


Shotgun

by lipservice (thescariestadverbs)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Deep Throating, Demon!Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Face-Fucking, M/M, Rape, Rimming, death to the trenchcoat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 14:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescariestadverbs/pseuds/lipservice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon Dean is hunting Sam. He captures a familiar face in hopes of getting some information, and maybe a little fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shotgun

The first thing he notices is the throbbing pain in his head. His blood feels hot and hard against his head and for a moment he thinks there’s a chance it might break through. The second thing he notices is the smell. It’s heavy and thick and foul and familiar but not all at the same time. He has to choke to breathe. He takes a few ragged gasps before slowly opening his eyes. He reaches over to brush the hair out of his face when his arm catches with a loud clang. He can’t reach his face. He tugs again. His arms are chained above his head. His legs are chained to the wall behind him. Terror starts to spread through his belly.

Castiel whips his head around the room, panicked. It’s dark but he can make out the shape of a bed, a table. A door. He’s in a hotel room, maybe. Chained to a wall. He chokes out a cough. He’s weak, perhaps, but not so weak he can’t get out of this. He still has his stolen grace, there must be enough left to get him out of here. He glances around carefully before closing his eyes.

“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice calls out from the doorway, “if I were you.”

Cas opens his eyes and tries to make out a face in the darkness. The voice is familiar but his head is spinning and he can’t quite make sense of it, “who,” he clears his throat, “who are you? What do you want?”

The figure moves out of the shadows and steps towards him, “come on, Cas. You know this story. We’ve done this song and dance before. A few times,” Dean comes to a stop right in front of him, “didn’t you make me torture Alastair? Didn’t you kidnap him and tie him up just for me? You’re going to tell me where my brother is. And I am going to kill him.”

If his throat was dry before it’s parched now. Cas tries to speak but all that comes out is a strangled gasp. He pulls harder at his restraints. “I told you not to do that,” Dean winks, his eyes solid black, “they aren’t going to break. You’ll just tire yourself out and believe me, Cas, you don’t want to miss a minute of this.” The way he says his name makes Cas’s stomach churn. “This whole place is covered in your little angel symbols. You couldn’t bust your way out of here if you wanted to. You’re powerless in here, Cas.”

Dean strolls lazily over to the table and picks up a pair of scissors, “have I ever told you how much I hate that trench coat?” A sinister smile spreads across his face as he strokes the blade. He reaches out and violently grabs the lapel of Cas’s coat, jerking him forward. There’s inches, millimeters between them, and Cas can’t help but notice that he smells like Dean. He smells like ivory soap and sweat and blood and gunpowder. But there’s something else too. Something underneath the normal Dean scent. Something dark.

It doesn’t matter that Dean isn’t Dean anymore, that he’s something else entirely. It doesn’t matter who’s inside that shell. The second they come together all Cas can feel is heat, all he can hear is the blood rushing through his veins. Dean, who truly isn’t Dean, leans in and presses a hard kiss to Cas’s forehead. He lets go of the trenchcoat and Cas falls back against the wall.

He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to catch his bearings. He stands up, straight, and looks Dean, who isn’t Dean, in the eye. He’s shaking and the words aren’t coming but he tries to hold his ground anyway. Dean laughs. A loud, cruel, mocking laugh.

Dean reaches out and grabs the back of Cas’s neck, “stay still, angel,” he glances down at the scissors hovering above Cas’s belt, “I wouldn’t want to cut you.” All Cas can feel is Dean’s hand on his neck, hot and tight, as the scissors cut through his coat. The blades glide through it easily as Dean haphazardly cuts it away.

The coat falls to the ground soundlessly, piece by piece.

Tears burn the back of Cas’ eyes and he struggles to hold them back. It isn’t really the trenchcoat, he has no attachment to a piece of clothing, but at the same time it is the trenchcoat. It’s every time Dean teased him about it. It’s when Dean saved it after the Leviathans took him over. It’s the look in his eye when Dean handed it back to him. As the last piece hits the pile and the first tear falls, it’s the Dean that’s standing in front of him, the Dean that’s kicking the coat into the corner and the Dean who laughs and says, “that’s better.” It’s the Dean who has stripped him of the one thing that made him who he was.

Dean presses the tip of the scissors against Cas’s collarbone before dragging them down lazily, slicing the buttons off his shirt as he goes. Cas holds himself rigid, keeping his eyes glued to Dean’s.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean cocks his head to the side. He jerks Cas’s tie and slices it cleanly away.

“We’re going to save you, Dean,” Cas says, watching as Dean, who isn’t Dean, runs the scissors along his sleeves.

Dean smirks, “I bet you have a little plan and everything, don’t you? What is it? Are you gonna take me to church, Cas? Have me spewing tears and humanity like Crowley while you inject me with blood?” Dean drops the scissors and collapses onto his knees, “just like this, Cas, right? On my knees, begging you to save me?” Dean runs his hands up Cas’s legs until he reaches the waistband. He grips Cas’s hips at the bone and leans in, tugging at the button with his teeth, “c’mon, Cas. Save me.”

He doesn’t have a lot of give from his restraints but Cas jerks his knee upwards, as far as it will go, and clocks Dean in the chin. The button comes off in his mouth and Cas’s pants fall to the ground. Dean spits the button on the floor, “if you want to be naked you should have just said so,” Dean smiles up at him and leans forward and places a kiss just above the waistband of his boxers. He’s not proud to admit it, or really anything about this, but his cock twitches at the contact.

The jangle of keys bring him out of his reverie. “Play nice,” Dean says sharply, “if you try that again you’ll regret it,” Cas feels the restraint around his left leg go slack. His right follows suit and he’s dangling from his wrists. Dean wraps an arm around his waist and holds up as he releases the chain holding the handcuffs to the ceiling and Cas collapses into his arms.

Dean throws him down on the bed. Before he can try to scramble away Dean grabs him and pushes him down, hard, so he’s laying flat on his stomach. Dean reaches for a chain off the nightstand and wraps it around the headboard before clipping it to Cas’s cuffs, “we can’t have you running away just yet,” he says. Cas closes his eyes and tries to reach out to Sam but he’s not strong enough. He curses Metatron, briefly, for stealing his grace. If he were stronger, if he were himself he’d have saved Dean a long time ago. He presses his forehead to the pillow as Dean, who isn’t Dean, slides the scissors along his left leg and leisurely cuts away his boxers.

“Don’t you just make a picture, Cas,” Dean laughs, running a hand over Cas’s back. He flinches instinctively and it only makes Dean laugh louder, “this is going to be fun.”

The hand on his back is warm, tender even. It takes everything inside of him not to arch back into it. It’s not Dean, he tells himself, it’s not Dean, it’s not Dean, it’s not Dean. “You know,” Dean says as he walks around to the back of the bed, casually dragging his nails along the back of Cas’s leg, “I’ve always wanted to see you like this. All weak and vulnerable. Completely at my mercy. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about you on your knees.”

“The things I could do to you, Cas,” he can hear the smirk in Dean’s voice, “I’d ruin you for anyone else.”

He buckles against his restraints, straining and pulling on them like a petulant child. It’s fruitless, of course, thanks to the holy metal but he tries anyway. Dean watches him thrash around with a cocky smile before he leans over, his face right next to Cas’s ear and whispers, “I thought I told you not to do that.” Cas can sense the angel blade before he feels it run across his back and his blood runs cold. He freezes, holding his body tight.

He didn’t carry the normal human shame with his nudity. It didn’t bother him that he was naked, it’s more the whole chained-to-the-bed with Dean, who isn’t really Dean, standing over him, dangling the angel blade so the tip rests on the small of his back. “That’s more like it,” Dean says softly, “it’s fun when you fight, don’t get me wrong, but there is a time and place for that, angel, and right now it’s neither. Tell me where Sam is.”

Silence.

“I’m giving you one last chance to do this the easy way. Tell me where my brother is.”

“No,” Cas’s voice is raw. The reality is, as much as he doesn’t want to think about it, even if he tells Dean where Sam is… He knows Dean isn’t going to let him go.

“No?” Dean lays the angel blade on the bed next to Cas’s leg, “alright, angel. I guess we are doing this the hard way.”

He’s no stranger to the change in his body. He’s lived in it long enough, felt it enough times, it’s not the first time his cock has gone hard. It is, however, the first time he’s embarrassed by it. Cas pushes his body down into the mattress and prays for the first time in years. He prays Dean won’t notice. Sam will burst through the door. He prays Dean will just kill him now and get it over with.

Dean, of course, can’t read his mind. Or maybe he can and he think it’s funny. Cas isn’t sure but he can feel Dean’s hands as they run back and forth up his calves. “On your knees,” Dean says as he pushes Cas’s legs up, “come on, Cas. I’ll chain them too if I have to.”

It’s a struggle to pull his knees in and under without the use of his arms but he manages enough. He squeezes his thighs together as tightly as he can, hoping to block Dean’s view of his aching hard on. “Relax, baby,” Dean, who isn’t Dean, says softly, brushing his fingertips over the small of Cas’s back, “it’ll feel better for both of us if you do.”

Cas lets a strangled, choking noise out of the back of his throat. He’d be lying if he said he’d never imagined this moment. He’d been human the first time it happened. Or at least, the first time he remembered it happening. He never used to pay attention to what his body, his vessel, had done at first.

He’d been lying in the motel room bed, the soft morning sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains and he’d been thinking about Dean. And Sam. But mostly Dean. And there’d been a stir, followed by a surge, of almost warmth moving through his body and settling at the base of his cock. He threw off the sheets and watched curiously as it went from soft against his leg to hard and slapping him in the stomach.

Not all that unlike what it’s doing right now, unfortunately.

Dean’s hands slide up his thighs and rest precariously on his ass. Cas’s willing his erection to disappear completely when Dean growls low in his throat. It doesn’t really listen and stays pinned between his leg and his stomach. He’s not really sure what to expect but he’s braced himself for the worst. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat but gags on it instead. Dean laughs, “save some of that for later.”

Cas doesn’t have time to discern what Dean means. Dean had promised himself he would take it slow, he’d enjoy every second of this, but staring down at Cas’s ass and listening to him choke are enough to have him reconsidering the plan. He spreads Cas’s cheeks and runs his thumb along the exposed skin. He feels Cas twitch when he reaches his hole and he loses it altogether.

For a moment, he doesn’t give a shit about finding and killing Sam, really, he could do that on his own. Kidnapping Cas was just a fun way to make to easier but not exactly necessary. And, really, the fun he could have with his little angel was all the incentive he needed. He leans in and trails his tongue along the path his thumb has set. Dean doesn’t need encouragement but the guttural gasp Cas lets out doesn’t hurt either. He nips Cas’s cheek before moving back to his hole. He all but dives in, burying his tongue as far as it would go. He pulls back and rims Cas’s lightly, pulling his cheeks apart for better access before he stiffens his tongue and slides it in again.

Dean’s tongue is in his ass. Cas rests his forehead against the headboard and tries to breathe but the onslaught of Dean’s licking, sucking, biting, and swirling, among other things, is about all he can focus on. He wouldn’t say he’d pictured this when he thought about Dean in the lazy morning light but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t responding to it. His cock feels impossibly hard and he finds himself pushing back against Dean’s mouth, urging him deeper. He swallows a moan, a gasp and curse all at the same time. He can barely breathe but he doesn’t dare risk opening his mouth.

“You taste good, angel,” Dean says, urging Cas’s thighs apart. He resists but Dean forces them apart anyway, freeing Cas’s trapped erection. “You’ve been holding out on me,” Dean smiles.

Cas buries his head in the pillow, his face turning red. He hadn’t had a lot of leverage, chained to a bed with a tongue up his ass, but the little bit he had he’d have liked to keep. The small bit of dignity he’d managed to hold onto, or at least told himself he held onto, is lost the minute Dean sees his cock, straining against his skin, begging for attention.

He expects Dean to touch it, to touch him, but instead Dean pulls back all together. Cas’s hole clenches as the sudden onslaught of cold air. He whips his head around as best as he can but he can’t see Dean. He struggles for a moment, jerking and pulling at the chains, desperately hoping for some flaw in the blessed metal before he goes limp.

“Where is Sam?” he hears from behind him.

Though he can’t see him, he can picture Dean leaning against the wall, casually, watching the beads of cold sweat running down Cas’s back and ass. Watching his cock start to soften, surprisingly, until it doesn’t feel like it will explode off of him. It’s maybe a few minutes, though it feels much longer, before he can speak. “I don’t,” he croaks, “I’m not going to tell you.”

“Come on, Cas,” Dean walks over and crouches beside the bed. He runs a gentle hand along the slope of Cas’s back, “you don’t want me to beg do you?”

Cas fantasizes about spitting in Dean, who isn’t Dean’s face, “I don’t care what you do,” he responds venomously.

“Is that so?” Dean stands up abruptly and walks back around and out of Cas’s sight. He braces himself for something, what he isn’t quite sure, but he would imagine Dean probably has a whole suitcase full of ways to break him. He doesn’t exactly expect to feel Dean’s cock slapping him in the back of the neck.

“I’ll bite it off,” Cas snaps as threateningly as he can given his current circumstances.

Dean laughs, a loud and hearty laugh, “sweetheart, I’d like to see you try.” Though his voice is jovial his movements are everything but. He pulls Cas’s head up by the hair. It takes a minute or two but he rolls Cas awkwardly onto his side with his arms still pinned above his head, “you’re nothing, Cas,” Dean whispers into his ear, “you’re nothing at all. If you meant a thing to the Winchesters I’m sure Sam would have ripped this door down hours ago but instead he’s left you behind. Dean would have done the same. You’re nothing but a poor excuse for a human.”

Cas shuts his eyes tightly.

“Open your mouth,” Dean says roughly. Cas considers resisting. If he fought hard enough or long enough maybe Dean would just kill him. Let this whole cat and mouse game finally end. He swallows the lump in his throat and looks up, meeting solid black eyes, as Dean says, “open your fucking mouth, angel.” He doesn’t say the word like he did before. It’s not meant to be a pet name anymore. It’s an insult, a dig. A hard reminder of how far they really have come.

He opens his mouth. Not much, but enough. Dean grabs a handful of his hair and pulls it until Cas has his mouth open the rest of the way, “keep your teeth to yourself,” he says before unceremoniously thrusting his cock down Cas’s throat.

Dean doesn’t give him a chance to adjust, hell the most luck he’s had all day is that he doesn’t have to try and breathe on top of the choking and sputtering he can’t hold back. The back of his throat is raw and he’s pretty sure he can taste blood. It doesn’t stop Dean though, he just keeps ramming his cock down Cas’s throat despite all of the blood, snot and spit spilling down his chin.

It seems like an eternity before Dean puts an end to it. Or well, Cas does, when he retchs around Dean’s cock. Dean pulls back long enough to let Cas finish throwing up before slaps him in the lip with his cock, “clean it off,” he says. It’s red and pulsing, covered in a thin layer of blood, spit and bile. Cas bites his lip before sticking his tongue out tentatively and licking the head. Dean hisses at the touch.

It’s all Cas can do to not throw up a second time as he tastes his own vomit on Dean’s cock. It doesn’t help that Dean is responding to the attention, “fuck, Cas,” he moans, thrusting his cock forward. Cas swirls his tongue around the head, gaining in confidence at the idea that maybe if he got Dean off Dean would kill him and they could just call it a day. For the most part, all he can taste now is the salty precum.

Dean pulls out again. He grabs Cas by the shoulder and shoves him down into the pool of his own fluids. So much for that idea, Cas thinks, as he feels Dean’s hands spreading his cheeks apart. He isn’t really sure what to expect but reminds himself, people have sex like this all the time. How bad could it really be?

“Last chance,” Dean says, positioning the head of his cock, dry, against Cas’s hole.

It’s half pride and half fear that keeps his mouth closed. The smell of his vomit is making him dizzy. Before he could really even think of a response he’s seeing stars. The pain is almost unbearable as Dean muscles his way into the tight shaft without warning. Cas screams at the sudden invasion, his pact with himself to stay silent irrevocably broken. His throat, raw and ragged from the violent throat fucking it had already received gushes fresh blood into his mouth.

Dean gives him half a second to adjust before he pulls out, a slight relief floods through Cas’s body before Dean thrusts in again. Over and over. Does the pain subside? Cas isn’t even sure. He just lays there, his cheek submerged in his own blood and vomit as Dean tells him how good and tight he feels. Breathing in his own blood and vomit as Dean tells him how much he always wanted to fuck Cas. As Dean tells him how much he loves seeing him like this, weak and vulnerable underneath him.

He blacks out once, maybe twice, as Dean carries on his onslaught. Really, Cas wonders, how long could this possibly go on? But on it goes. The pain seems to subside as his body grows accustomed to Dean’s girth. He glances down between his legs and he can see blood running down his limp cock. As Dean tells him how beautiful he looks when he bleeds.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, of course, he had been planning on taking it slow. Dean thinks fondly of the whip laying on the table just a few feet from him. He could stop, whip Cas for a while and then continue if he really wanted to but he couldn’t help himself. Cas really did make a treat, splayed out on the bed. Black and bloody. He can feel his cock tighten and his thrusting loses rhythm. He’s pounding Cas haphazardly when he cums. It slides out almost instantly, along with the blood and whatever else he’s torn open.

Cas is vaguely aware of Dean buckling his belt and lacing up his boots. The noises are so oddly familiar that for a moment he forgets where he is. He can’t feel the pain in his throat or his ass anymore, but he knows he’ll feel it soon. He blacks out again as Dean methodically packs up his bag, eyeing Cas’s pale white ass as he tucks the whip away for another day.

When Cas comes to again he’s alone. The blood and vomit are dry and his face is stuck to the sheet. The tears come before he has a chance to stop them. He’s sobbing violently against the bed as he door breaks open. He barely notices as Sam unlocks his arms from the headboard and gathers him up against his chest.


End file.
